


Adjacent

by emptyswimmingpools



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Briefly Mentioned Troye/Tyler, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Slow Burn (Kinda? I Guess?), a lot of pining, acquaintances to enemies to friends to lovers, i may as well just rename this to 'oblivious gays', on Connor's side at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 16,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5788393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyswimmingpools/pseuds/emptyswimmingpools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor's merely acquaintances with the guy he lives next to, Troye, up until an absolutely ridiculous accident occurs, and he learns that Troye is extremely good at upholding grudges. Well, against him, at least.</p><p>Or: the neighbours AU involving unrealistically thin walls, a somewhat abnormal amount of description and a very enigmatic boy who seems to be driving Connor crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Acquaintance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I introduce the story by portraying Connor's relationship with Troye using small-talk and a party.  
>  _Acquaintance: a person one knows slightly, but who is not a close friend._

**I** t's September — or, to be more specific, it's Connor's birthday. He's not entirely sure how he feels about it overall, because there seems to be an equal amount of pro's and con's: although he's just getting closer to his inevitable end, he'll get to see his friends and receive gifts, but then there's also the fact that he's currently in a different city to his family and won't be able to celebrate with them.

Rather than having his family come over like he normally would, he's decided he's simply going to invite some friends over for a small get-together, where they'll drink and talk and generally just have fun — assuming all goes as planned, that is. But there's a small problem regarding his housing: Connor lives in an apartment that, despite being nice, has stupidly thin walls that he shares with the apartment adjacent to him.

In that apartment lives Troye, a twenty year old who seems nice enough. He's had several chats with him before, but that was only merely small talk that he's positive could go the exact same way with any other person in the world. He often sees him around the city for reasons unknown to Connor (for work, he can only assume), and besides that, he'll see him in the halls and in the lift.

(It's also relevant to mention that Troye is so attractive he could well be a model if he wanted to. Connor's not one to obtain crushes on people after only a few conversations with them, but that doesn't mean he's not going to ever-so-subtly stare at him anytime they see each other — Troye is quite the sight with his unruly curls, pasty skin, ocean-coloured eyes and impeccable fashion sense.

It's certainly not relevant that his accent makes Connor's knees weak and his smile is so nice he's not sure if he's more jealous or just straight-up attracted to him, and it definitely doesn't matter that his nails are always painted in a range of different colours which leaves Connor oddly curious of what colour he'll go for next. It's entirely irrelevant that he's perhaps a bit too observant of the boy.)

As he'd like to think of himself as a decent person, he'd feel guilty for inviting his rowdy friends around to cause a racket and disturb Troye without any granted permission or warning, so he's designed a plan in his head: he's just going to talk to him about it the moment he gets back from doing whatever it is that he does. There's little doubt in his mind that there'd be a problem, but ensuring it's OK first feels right.

So when he hears Troye's lock turning and his door opening, he walks outside, and right before Troye goes to shut the door again, Connor stops him by speaking, "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?"

Troye shoots him an inquisitive glance followed by a small, warm smile. "Sure, what about?" he asks.

"Well, it's my birthday today—"

"Happy birthday!" Troye cuts him off.

"Thanks," he smiles before continuing. "Anyway. . . I was planning on inviting some friends round, and they can get pretty loud sometimes, and I didn't want to, like, annoy or disturb you, so. . ." he trails off.

"That's fine, honestly. Have fun with your friends. And hey, if it gets too loud, I'll go buy some noise-cancelling headphones, eh?"

Troye's lame attempt at a joke makes him (fondly) roll his eyes at him, and giggle a little. "Thanks," he says, "have a good day."

The two part ways, each heading back into their own apartments, and Connor texts his friends and asks if they want to come over. They all respond similarly — all yeses and smiley faces — and that's that. The evening's set, and all he can do now is prepare and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'll be updating frequently, but don't quote me on that - i'm unreliable as fuck. regardless, i hope you enjoy.  
> (you can also find this on [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/59797482-adjacent-%E2%9E%B5-tronnor)!)


	2. Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor throws a party, Lilly fucks up, and Connor finds himself in a bit of a predicament. Fun fun fun.  
>  _Accident: an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury._

**L** illy has never been one to handle drinks well — Connor knows that. She's the biggest lightweight he knows, and she's also always the life of the party. Her dumb jokes and sporadic outbursts are entertaining, to say the least, though it has occasionally gotten her into some absurd situations that he's not entirely sure why it occurred or how she got to be in that position exactly.

For instance, she once climbed halfway up a tree, which doesn't sound that wacky, but the mere fact that she managed to get that far up in her state was enough to make Connor grin at the memory — let alone the things she was shouting in the actual process of climbing. She also once bought every last packet of condoms for no particular reason from the large Tesco nearby, and she once jumped off a roof claiming she could fly (this ended in a trip to the hospital and a broken leg, inevitably).

So in hindsight, perhaps inviting her wasn't the best decision he's made this year, but it's a little too late to opt out now. Besides, what's a party without his best friend? It just wouldn't be the same, would it? Although the noise level was concerning, it'd feel too quiet without her — almost silent. It's sort of like having a pair of broken headphones that won't allow you to turn up the volume when you want it to — it remains quiet.

By the time it gets to approximately half past eleven, one of his friends had to leave, but the rest are still happy and conversing with each other, and although he's a bit too drunk to think properly, he's really quite appreciative of everything. He reckons that everyone could probably do with a glass of water (or three), so he excuses himself from the discussion (which isn't much of a discussion, really. It's more of a shouting-fest, paired with fits of laughter) and walks into the kitchen.

He zones out for a while, and he's not sure how long it's been exactly, but he's immediately snapped back into reality when he hears a loud crashing noise coming from the living room, and rushes in quickly (he's sort of forgotten about the drink in his hand, so as he moves, it's spilling all over the carpet) to see the commotion, and is shocked by the sight in front of him.

Gaping fairly wide on the wall, is an unmistakable hole. A fucking _hole_. A hole that just so happens to be on the very thin wall that separates Troye's apartment from his own, that he most definitely can't cover up quickly. He's more than a little dumbfounded, and he's not sure if he's more amused or mad at Lilly for getting him into this mess. He doesn't know how it happened, either, so how he's going to explain that properly to Troye is a mystery.

Oh God, _Troye_. He's going to have to deal with Troye, and he doesn't think he's on board with a newfound enemy, but he may just have to live with it. But then he remembers that each time he's spoken to the boy he's been sweet, respectful and understanding, and he manages to convince himself that this would be no different, and Troye would react calmly and rationally.

(Perhaps Connor should consider the fact that if he were in Troye's situation he would certainly _not_ react nicely, and he also considers himself to be a nice person.)

He also takes note of the fact that if Troye were in, he'd have most definitely heard the noise and woken up, but as he hasn't, Connor can only assume that he's out for the night. Either that, or he's just a really heavy sleeper, which seems unlikely. Regardless, he breathes a sigh of relief at the realisation that he's not going to have to talk to him until the morning, which is a bonus, because he won't be half-drunk anymore at that point.

As calmly as he can, he kicks everyone out of his apartment, telling them all how much fun he's had and how he'll see them all again soon, and collapses haphazardly into bed. He snuggles under the covers and lets his mind take him away from the present. He forgets how stressful the next day will be, and he forgets about the hole in his wall. He's peaceful, sure — but how long will that last?


	3. Adversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troye addresses the accident and is more than slightly pissed off with Connor, thus declaring him on his bad side. AKA: Troye gets sarcastic and it's my favourite thing ever.  
>  _Adversary: one's opponent in a contest, conflict, or dispute._

**C** onnor is woken up the next day at about 8:00AM by the sound of knocking at his door, and for a brief moment, he forgets why. The memory then hits him like a ton of bricks — the alcohol, Lilly, the _hole_. This is it — the moment he's been dreading. He groans into his pillow and resists the urge to turn over and go back to sleep, and he slowly gets out of the bed, throwing on a random shirt and some sweatpants.

His nerves are building up to the height of a tower as he walks to his door; his hands shake at their own accord as he opens it, revealing an extremely pissed off looking Troye. The boy walks into Connor's apartment without any permission, and Connor has to bite back a sarcastic " _please, do come in_ ", because he knows that that would certainly not help his case. "Um, hello?" Connor says as Troye sits himself down onto his couch. "What brings you here?" he says, deciding that playing naivety is a good option.

"Don't act as if you aren't aware," Troye sneers, in a manner that seems too harsh to come from a boy so undeniably, youthfully beautiful. Looks can be deceiving, all right. "There's a fucking hole in my wall, and it _certainly_ wasn't there yesterday before I left. I'd like an explanation, and perhaps a written apology on how much of a fucking _idiot_ you are. That sound OK, yeah?"

Connor gulps, and sits on a small space on the floor opposite to Troye. "I'm— I'm sorry?" he says, although it sounds more like a question than a statement. _God, I need to work on my people skills_ , he thinks, as he struggles to find a better defence for himself. "It was a complete accident, I promise."

Troye snorts, "I figured that much out. Surprisingly, I didn't think you'd want to purposefully ruin your own living space." If it were anyone else but himself Troye was having this discussion with, he'd probably laugh at his remark, but considering it wasn't, nervous butterflies flew around inside his stomach, taunting him at how completely and utterly _fucked_ he is.

Connor doesn't know how to respond to that; he sits completely silent, anticipating another jeer. He looks down to his lap, focusing his attention on a loose thread from the bottom hem of his shirt, pulling gently at it.

"Sorry doesn't fix everything," Troye continues, albeit his words are mumbled tiredly instead of in a bitter, harsh tone, and it makes Connor feel a wave of guilt wash over him.

"I know," is all he can say in response.

"If you know, why'd you say it?"

"Lack of better words."

Troye raises an eyebrow, "That all?"

Connor shrugs, "I don't know."

"Wow, such a wonderful way with words you have," Troye comments, standing up. Connor can only assume that it's because he's going to leave, but it seems as though he's proven to be wrong; Troye walks into the kitchen, grabs a glass and runs it under the tap, taking a few large gulps.

"You know you've got your own sink, right?" he says.

"You know you've got other walls, right?" Troye mocks, setting the glass back down. Connor sighs. _Troye is really something else, isn't he?_

He walks over to the door, opening it, but before he properly leaves and closes it, he says one last thing: "you know you've just earned yourself a new enemy, right, Franta?" And then he smiles, and Connor's frustrated at how nothing seems to add up, because one minute Troye's all venom-filled comments, and the next, he's flashing toothy grins like a happy six-year-old.

Connor has a hard time functioning normally for the rest of the day, still absolutely dumbfounded.


	4. Anomalous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor thinks that Troye is leaving him alone at first, but he's proven wrong later with a loud surprise. In short: Troye obtains a sex life.  
>  _Anomalous: deviating from what is standard, normal, or expected._

**I** t's been a few days since Connor's confrontation with Troye, and it's been oddly peaceful. Well — minus the harsh glare he receives any moment he does so much as even _look_ at Troye, that is. He recalls only a mere week ago looking into those ocean eyes with a glance of welcoming friendship; now all he gets is cold glares from ice eyes. A small encounter in the corridor that once would've made him smile at the memory of is now replaced by sustained emptiness.

Connor's beginning to think that when Troye referred to Connor as his newfound enemy, he really didn't mean much by it — it seems that Connor's expectations were set too high. He was anticipating some sort of torturous prank, or a variation; the dreaded silent treatment was not on his list of presuppositions. Fair enough, quiet, venom-filled glances weren't exactly pleasant either, but were definitely more tolerable.

(And despite the fact that he's still in Troye's bad books, it's still hard not to admire him and his beauty all the time. Glower stares only gave him more opportunities to appreciate just how God damn _pretty_ those eyes were. Besides, likelihood is that Connor doesn't even notice/acknowledge he's doing it, but perhaps Troye does — he can't be sure of that, however; after all, he's not Troye himself.)

Troye's creative, isn't he? Connor often will hear piano keys pressed in time to melodies he's never heard before, and presumes are original, through the thin walls; he's talented, at the very least, and talented usually is synonymous to creative, right? As Connor's logic follows, he has the sufficient skills to construct a stunt, and he apparently isn't using them.

He's also very aware of the fact that Troye is good in arguments — intimidating, witty, quick to think — and could easily have insulted him an unfathomable amount of times by now, yet hasn't.

Connor spends a solid twenty minutes of his time (that he's supposed to spend eating — his food has gone quite cold when he's done) evaluating each point and eventually decides upon the assumption that Troye can't properly or successfully hold a grudge. Like, at all. After this revelation, he spends the rest of his day in a peaceful state, relaxed and unaffected by the thought of the pale boy.

But then the night comes, and it's an entirely different story.

It's perhaps 12AM when Connor finally rolls into bed, burrowing his head into his cool pillow and snuggling into the comfort of his cocooned duvet. It's perhaps 12:15AM when Connor actually begins to attempt to fall asleep. It's perhaps 12:30AM when he hears it: groaning. Unmistakably, it's the kind that isn't out of anger or boredom or anything else of a similar matter — it's _sexual_ , and it's coming from Troye's apartment.

Connor has multiple thoughts initially: most revolve around such delights as _what the fuck_ and _this is not happening right now_ , but said thoughts are interrupted by the sounds growing louder.

_God, how long is this going to last?_

Connor sighs heavily and turns swiftly around as if it would somehow help conceal himself from venereal noises.

(It doesn't, he learns.)

And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse—

"Fuck, _Troye_!" he hears an unfamiliar voice say in a breathy moan, and Connor rolls his eyes. Unbelievable. Is this part of his grudge plan? Because Connor knows from expedience that Troye isn't one for hookups and one-night stands (they've literally had a conversation about it before). If it's specifically to keep Connor up, it's definitely working well.

And, as time passes on and Troye and his partner don't seem to stop, Connor finds himself in a pissed off state, and he's also rather unfortunately in a very uncomfortable predicament.

Connor ends up running himself a cold shower at about 1AM, and when he falls asleep, he's haunted by the ghost of Troye's glare.


	5. Accusation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilly stays the night at Connor's and Troye overhears a conversation, which leads him to find the truth. Troye is a confusing little shit, and Connor's inner monologue gets a bit gay.  
>  _Accusation: a claim that someone has done something wrong._

**T** yler, as Connor has finally learnt the name of through Troye's encounters with, seems to be a regular evening routine for Troye, and it's growing more and more exhausting for Connor.

Connor swears to all things holy that they're getting louder every night. It's unfathomably ridiculous.

It's gotten to the point where they're getting so loud Connor has had to stay at Lilly's once or twice just to successfully fall asleep. Telling her about it was quite an odd conversation: Connor was all blushes and awkward stutters, and Lilly was all jokes and giggles. Nevertheless, she understood and let him stay, much to Connor's relief. However, to his dismay rather than relief, there's a bit of an issue: Lilly sort of thinks that it'd be a funny idea if they switched locations and stayed at Connor's tonight — to, of course, get a first-hand experience of Troye's... active sex life. What a fun sleepover activity, eh?

Connor wants to protest — he really does — but he's a bit of a people pleaser, and ends up simply nodding his head and muttering a vague "yeah, okay" to her, and then he returns to their usual conversational topics.

But when the night comes, and he receives a text from her saying that she's on her way, he can't help but feel a little uneasy — his pulse has raised slightly, and he keeps fiddling with the bottom hem of his shirt to distract him (he finds he does this a lot when he's nervous; he has to have something in his hands to play with, or he'll feel oddly worse. He has no idea why, but he pays no mind). But, in a turn of emotions, he feels a lot better when he actually opens the door to see familiar smiles and enthusiasm and it's comforting, like home.

"Hey," he greets, extending his arms out for a hug, which Lilly gladly accepts.

"How's it been with..." she trails off, knowing that Connor understands who she means.

"Nothing's happened since the obvious early this morning," he tells her, and she nods, taking the information in.

"Good to know," she says quickly. "Do you think he'll get pissed when he realises you have a friend over after last time?"

Connor snorts, "I'd bet my life on it. I wouldn't be surprised if he knocks on my door and tells you to fuck off."

"Does he know it was me? You know, who destroyed the wall?" she asks. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"You've literally apologised fifteen billion times. It's OK. And, to answer your question: no, he doesn't know it was you specifically. In fact, I think he thinks it was me."

Lilly laughs, "Well, it's a plausible accusation."

"Fair enough."

And then, right on cue, the fucking door knocks, and before Connor can protest, Lilly opens it.

"Wait, it wasn't you?" Troye says, and Connor wants to evaporate into thin air. Is the world against him today? Are the walls really that thin? Was Troye eavesdropping? Is this karma? If so, what for?

"No, Lilly did it," he replies.

"And you didn't think to tell me before I made an enemy in you?!"

"Does this mean we aren't on bad terms now?" Connor asks.

"No, it fucking doesn't!" Troye dramatically exclaims.

This time it's Lilly who speaks, "Wait, why? He didn't do anything wrong!"

"Well, first of all, he's an utter prat because he took the blame. He also let you do it instead of stopping you, which adds on bonus prat points. And, lastly, because I've gotten way too far into hating you now. Bit hard to put it on hold, you feel?"

(Connor takes note of the way Troye said "on hold", as if he knows he's going to fuck up again and have a repeat. He knows he should take offence, but it's more humorous, if he's being honest.)

Connor opens his mouth to let out a witty comeback of some sort, but before he can, Troye is gone and he's alone with Lilly again. He just stands there for a bit — his mouth hung open, his body frozen, his mind a blur. Troye is irrefutably perplexing; it's exhausting, but, if he's being frank, it's actually quite fun. It's a bit of a breath of fresh air — he never knows what'll happen next, and he never knows _why_ it happens. And perhaps he's biased (because despite being called every bad word under the sun by him, he still finds Troye so endearing and attractive and it's absolutely fucking with his head), but he doesn't care.


	6. Abnormal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor badly attempts to deny to both Lilly and himself that he has feelings for Troye. Inevitably, neither of them are having it. Also, Connor refers to Troye as several weird nicknames.  
>  _Abnormal: deviating from what is normal or usual, typically in a way that is undesirable or worrying._

**C** onnor isn't sure how long exactly it's been when Lilly snaps him out of the trance he's in; she snaps her fingers near his face several times and calls out his name to grab his attention, and he drifts back into reality. His mind is still a bit of a mess — filled relentlessly with words from Troye, Troye, Troye...

He claws his mind away from the blue-eyed boy and focuses on Lilly. "Huh?" he says simply, realising that he hadn't yet responded to her saying his name. He blushes slightly because of this.

Lilly sighs, "You zoned out." She pauses for a moment, but continues to speak, "What's his deal, then?" Her words are spoken quietly yet coherently, as if she knows that talking too loud would result in Troye hearing it all again, aware of the consequences if it were to happen again.

Connor snorts, "As if I'd know. Kid's tripping me out. It's weird, like, whenever he's not on my case, my mind tricks me into thinking he is. He's a fucking virus I can't get away from." He feels mean having referred to him as a 'virus' even though everything he's done has indeed been the result of Connor's actions, so really, it was perfectly justifiable. But despite that, he still feels like he's sort of the victim here. (He also feels slightly bad for calling him a kid, too, because he knows perfectly well he's twenty and not six.)

"I didn't know viruses could have sex every night for... what? A week straight?" Lilly jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Connor stifles a smile, "OK, that was bad," he comments. Lilly nods in agreement.

"Perhaps, but..." she trails off, hesitating to carry on.

"What?"

"Does he... do you... do you _like_ him?" she asks, her words stumbled upon and hushed, but their meaning clear as day.

Connor's taken aback slightly (read: a lot). _Does_ he? Well, he hasn't really thought about it. Yes, in a _physical_ way, he was attracted to Troye, but as for personality...

Troye is witty, humorous, musical and mysterious — his character obviously has several layers to it, and Connor would be lying to say that deep down he wants to know them all. Connor can't deny that if he/Lilly hadn't fucked up and they were on good terms, Troye would show his kinder and more gentle side to him; perhaps someday he'd get that back. He also knows that Troye's confident in his words, and is passionate about the things he loves — even if said things are to do with arguing and fucking.

 _Yes_ , Connor wants to say.  _Yes, I think I do like him._

"No," he says, and though he tries to make his words seem sure, uncertainty lingers in the air once his words have came out. Lilly catches onto this — at least, her expression implies she has.

"Sure you don't," she quips, sarcasm clear in her tone. _Yeah_ , Connor thinks, _she's definitely caught on_.

Connor gasps and raises his hand to his mouth in mock offence and laughs. "Lilly," he starts, "I swear I don't like him." _Blatant lie_.

"Fine, I believe you, all right?" Connor can't say he's convinced by her words (albeit if he were in her position, he would've said it with the same amount of doubt, if not more), but nods in response regardless.

"What makes you think I do, can I ask?"

Lilly shrugs. "I don't know," she says, though Connor knows that there's a true reason. He raises his eyebrows, prompting her to elaborate, and she sighs, obliging. "Just how you interact with him in general, I suppose. The way you look at him. The way you talk to him. I don't know, I'm not good at this."

Connor laughs, "Neither am I. But, all right. I was just curious."

He makes a mental note to himself to try and control the way he looks and talks to him, so that Troye won't catch on either.

_But what if he already has?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) fun fact this story was originally gonna be only seven or eight chapters but i have so much more plot lmao  
> 2) this isnt proofread so sorry for any mistakes  
> 3) apologies for the self promo but follow my [tumblr](https://gaylordjpg.tumblr.com)  
> 4) as usual i hope you all have great days and such


	7. Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Troye and Connor have an argument (can I even call it that?), and things get mildly suggestive in the process.  
>  _Argument: an exchange of diverging or opposite views, typically a heated or angry one._

**T** he morning after Lilly stays is a whirlwind of emotions — Connor's still a bit weirded out (an odd way of putting it) by the last encounter with Troye, and he's definitely high-key worried about his ever-growing crush on the boy; despite his hesitance to actually refer to his feelings as having a crush, it's like it's all he can think about, and it feels like it's growing rapidly as the hours roll by aimlessly.

Perhaps it's not a crush, as such — more of a squidge, or perhaps a squeeze. Crush felt too real; synonymous words instead lightened the blow a little. Not a great deal, but it did, nevertheless.

So, if it isn't obvious at this point, Connor's not the best when it comes to dealing with feelings. Regardless, he somewhat stumbles through and powers on, taking his stuttered words and bad convincing in his stride. Well, sort of, at least.

The night after Lilly leaves, however, is somehow even worse: he actually talks to Troye, and not in a nice way at all. They argue. But the reason why is sort of unknown; Troye just walks into Connor's apartment at quarter to midnight, and gets more than a little bit pissy at Connor questioning him — he tries to keep it polite, but the frown on his lips and the furrow of his eyebrows makes it hard to be civil.

Connor says, "This is getting ridiculous." Really, he wants to add more. He wants to tell him to keep fucking quiet, to stop with the snarky comments, to try to be somewhat nicer. He wants to scream, but he's too nervous. And he knows he shouldn't let fear control his life, but it's definitely better than shouting in Troye's face and dealing with the relentless backlash from it.

"How so?" Troye replies coyly, adding in an innocent smirk just for good measure. He knows exactly what he's doing, and Connor immediately decides that he's not a fan of this side of Troye.

Connor glowers at him. "You know perfectly well why." His words are harsh, practically growled, yet he still wonders if Troye knows that this is just a simple act and really he wants nothing more than to tell him all the reasons why he's found himself with a dumb crush on him.

"I don't think I do. Enlighten me, babe?"

Connor gulps, desperately trying to ignore the pet name, because it meant _nothing_. He forces a glare, and his words fall out of his mouth at their own accord, "You're too fucking loud. You haven't even tried to make amends with me. You fuck with my mind like crazy." His words, for once, are clear and sound confident, and he's not going to deny that he's a little proud at that. He adds, but can't bring himself to mean it, "And don't call me babe."

Troye rolls his eyes. "You're kidding yourself when you say you won't want me to call you that," he says, and Connor breathes an internal sigh of relief when he realises that Troye thinks he's just bluffing. Then, Troye narrows his eyes a bit. and Connor doesn't expect what he says next in the slightest. "And your mind won't be the only thing I'm fucking."

Connor's jaw drops in a manner that's almost comedic, his mouth making a perfect 'O' shape. Troye laughs at this (and Connor refuses to admit that his laugh is nice), so Connor closes his mouth again, only to open it again several seconds later to spit out spiteful words. "So I see immaturity is your specialty, then."

"I suppose you could say that," is all Troye responds with.

And then a silence that's simultaneously comfortable and uncomfortable drenches the room, soaking the two boys into quietness. Connor's not sure how much time has passed when it's finally broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been 8 days i'm sorry i'm usually a lot more frequent but coursework and exam prep is seriously fucking me over but i'll try harder i stg


	8. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Troye and Connor are too stubborn for their own good.  
>  _Apology: a regretful acknowledgement of an offence or failure._

**"I** suppose I'm a little bit sorry," Troye says quietly but audibly, and he drawls out the 'i' in little. His words turn the atmosphere into a more serious one, and this is an awkward territory for Connor.

Connor's fairly shocked that Troye actually apologised — it seems all too rational for someone such as him. Troye just seems like the type to make rash, haphazard decisions (which really is a bad combination to add on to the fact that he's stubborn as fuck. Take the whole Tyler ordeal as an example; once he made the sudden decision, he refused to quit out of spite and determination to win the metaphorical battle between him and Connor).

He is also, however, quite pissed that Troye's apology lacked in sincerity and fullness. Seriously, _a little bit_? How weak. Connor likes Troye — he really,  _really_ does — but by no means does this signify that he'll allow the boy to get away with such a half-assed beg-pardon. He does understand that the amount of pride Troye has is perhaps a little overwhelming (for lack of better words), but still, he's not particularly impressed.

"Only a little bit?" Connor says, teasing Troye to admit fully. He can't quite muster up the courage to tell him everything he's just been thinking just yet; a simple mock suffices just fine.

Troye glares at him, piercing blue eyes narrowed but still as bright as ever. Connor refuses to pay mind to how nice they are, as he usually would. "Just accept the apology, asshole. Bet you're surprised I even have a tiny fraction of remorse inside me, huh?" he says, and there's a severe lack of the harsh tone of voice Connor anticipated; it contrasts the stern look his face holds.

"So, let me get this straight: you say you "suppose" that you're "only a little" sorry, then call me an asshole, and yet you still expect me to be forgiving?" Connor questions him, raising an eyebrow for effect. His words are accompanied by gesticulations over the quoted words. What Troye anticipated  _is_ a little far-fetched.

"Um, yes?" he says meekly, unsure of his own response.

As much as Connor wants to straight-up say he doesn't accept Troye's poor excuse of an apology, he can't quite bring himself to. He exhales a loud sigh and shrugs, "I suppose that I forgive you  _only_ _a little bit_." He does his best to keep his tone just a slight bit cold so he doesn't just seem like he's just teasing — he is, in a sense, because he is indeed mocking his earlier phrasing, but he also means it (or, at least, would like to think he does) and he intends to stick to it.

Troye smiles briefly and slightly; a small part of Connor hopes to see more of that soon, if they both decide that they need to hold back on their pride and bitterness. It feels almost out of character, though: he's grown rather used to seeing the more resentful side of him. It's a complete rarity. He can't quite put his finger on why he smiled, though.

"Fair enough," Troye decides.

"Do you also forgive me for ruining our wall?" Connor asks. Perhaps it's a long shot because Troye is, as aforementioned, very stubborn, but there's no harm in trying.

Troye repeats, "Only a little bit." He pauses a moment, then says, "We're still, like, enemies, though, yeah?"

Connor smirks. "Only a little bit," he says.

"Well, in that case, I hate you only a little bit."

"I hate you only a little bit, too."

Truth is, though, that Connor's only a little bit infatuated with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do u know how much time i spent trying to get this over 600 words ? too much. anyway im so sorry this is late too and its mostly speech ilu all dont slate me
> 
> maybe "only a little bit" will be our always xxxxxx (drinking game: take a shot every time one of them says that) (rip u)
> 
> lmao jk but thats gonna be a significant quote in the future just u fuckin wait
> 
> u see idk if its too soon to have them move on and be friends so i found middleground thru that
> 
> [[tumblr](https://gaylordjpg.tumblr.com), [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/mazetroye)]


	9. Abstracted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor stops for a moment, clears his head, lets himself think. Water related metaphors galore.  
>  _Abstracted: lacking concentration on what is happening around one._

**A** t this point, Connor's no stranger to having a mind bustling with what seems like endlessly recurring patterns of scattered thoughts, distracting him from the most basic of human functions. It's pretty much been this way since he first fucked things up with Troye, but never has he quite stopped to really think about everything that's happened over the course of the past few weeks with the pale, blue-eyed mystery.

Connor is almost entirely sure that he's drowning. Tidal waves of conflicting, confusing feelings and thoughts wash into his mind frequently. He can feel each little flow of water turn into a sort of whirlpool of a mess, and it's impossible to swim away. (Because, apparently, despite the fact that he's genuinely a good swimmer as for actual, physical pools, it doesn't mean that he's any good at slipping away from his overbearing thoughts. The two are nothing alike. Connor wishes this isn't the case.)

It's strange, really, that a single person can alter so much in your life, and you somewhat don't even realise it because you're too distracted. It's strange, really, that Troye hasn't even done that much, yet he's claiming every one of Connor's daydreams as his own. It's strange, really, that the so-called ocean of Connor's mind seems to be a familiar shade of blue that haunts him so frequently. It's strange, really, that to some extent, Connor doesn't mind it (after all, there _are_ worse things he could be thinking about).

So, several evenings later from the discussion he had with the boy, he sits down and for once allows himself to drown, instead of attempting to fight them off. His breaths are slow and deep, his eyes are closed as if falling asleep, his mouth is closed in a fine line. He tries perhaps too hard to relax himself as he abstracts from the world around him.

What seems to be a common occurrence is, of course, Troye. his feelings for him are enigmatic — just like the guy himself — albeit somewhat nice. It's a tricky situation, liking someone you play to hate. It doesn't help that Troye is returning his words with mixed signals and what seems like flirting disguised within a dig or jeer. He supposes that he likes that, doesn't mind it. It may seem odd, but he's hopelessly drawn to the abnormality within the way they interact: it's a bit of a mystery, and it's fresh and entertaining.

But there's also a confusing ray of frustration, too. Regardless of the fact that he's besotted with him, he's got to admit that Troye can be an asshole. When he wants something, he'll fight strongly for it. Connor admires the passion, yet despises the lack of organisation and the oblivion to how far the boundaries can stretch, and whether he's crossing them or not.

He dislikes the way he can brush off a venom-filled insult as if his words were entirely meaningless, and he dislikes the way that he seems to have to put all the effort he could possibly muster into being nice. Really, even before the drama started and they were mere acquaintances, he still seemed relatively detached: antisocial, if you will. Now, Connor understands that some people generally work better alone, but to close off and shut everyone out just to engage in simple small-talk?

See, that's another issue. Connor barely knows anything about him. Yes, he's aware of some personality traits that he's gathered from being an observant little shit, but he doesn't know any ins-and-outs. What's his family like? What''s his favourite colour? Where does he get his inspiration from? What are his hobbies? Birthday? Traditions? Childhood? Anything?!

In the end, Connor decides several things: he, first of all, has to start making more of an effort with Troye, he needs to stop giving himself a headache overthinking constantly, and he also should really think twice before he lets himself do stupid things, like developing feelings for a boy so engrossed within his own world of disgruntled pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka: the filler that definitely wasn't necessary but i wanted to write/upload regardless because i had a sudden burst of inspiration. seriously, though, two updates within 24 hours? i'm on a fucking roll, kids. this is next-level organisation for me.
> 
> also, thank you so, _so_ much for over 1k reads on this. means a lot, makes me feel real' appreciated, y'know?
> 
> hope you're all having good days. i send my love in your direction.


	10. Avoid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's a bit off. Troye is a sweetheart. No, really. (But he's still a bit of a little shit, too.)  
>  _Avoid: contrive not to meet (someone)._

**T** ime seems to pass in a sort of haze over the next week or so — the days roll by like Connor never lived through them, never existed. (Except, obviously, he very much did.)

Connor feels a little lost. Lost within himself. Like he can't face anyone other than himself; he can't meet Troye in the eye no matter how hard he tries. He ignores the way Troye's body seems to sink in disappointment slightly and then tense up afterwards as he starts to walk away. He disregards the slight ache in his own chest each time he leaves his apartment and sneaks a glance at Troye's closed door, or walks past the now finally covered spot in the wall where the hole that started it all is.

He's an avid believer in the term "all or nothing", so if he's too emotionally drained to put himself out there fully, he won't at all. Bit of a stupid rule to follow sometimes, but he often can't hep it. That's just how he is. So right now, he's somewhere along the "nothing" side of the spectrum, and he'll simply just have to wait until he feels up to it.

Except, one day, he's sort of unwillingly forced into it.

"Look, I know we're not exactly on the best of terms, but there's no need to avoid me entirely. Remember, we only hate each other a little bit now, yeah? And, not to be rude, but you sort of look like shit. You OK? Like, truthfully? Wait — stupid question, f'course you aren't, never mind that. You know what? Come in. Talk to me," Troye says, and Connor musters a half-assed, small yet appreciative smile accompanied by a nod.

Connor can't say he's used to Troye rambling and muttering so fast. He's usually confident in his words, voice loud and clear, unmistakably assured. To see him tripping over his words in such a way is an odd experience, to say the least.

Not to mention the way he seems like he actually, genuinely cares. As if he could only ever want the best for Connor, in despite of the countless arguments they've had. The little frown (resembling some sort of puppy) he gives as he looks over at Connor's slumped body on his sofa (which is significantly comfier than his own) warms his heart a little, though it makes him feel guilty, too.

It sort of feels like Troye's having a bad week as well, because he doesn't seem to have the energy to add even a subtle snarky comment into his wad of rambled sentences. (You could say he's tired of being a tiring person.) But as soon as Connor thinks that, he immediately shakes the thought away, because it feel wrong accusing Troye of only being nice for that reason — he knows he's rather capable of being a decent human being.

Troye sits down next to him five minutes later and hands him a mug, not telling him what it holds. The liquid looks strange, and Connor looks at him inquisitively, as if to ask him about its contents. Troye rolls his eyes, "It's tea, not fucking poison. I might be a dick sometimes, but I'm not that mean."

Connor takes a sip (and cringes at how it burns his throat), places it onto the coffee table in front of him. "I didn't think so," he says, his voice a little hoarse as he hasn't used it a lot recently.

"Sure," Troye responds simply and quickly, turning to face Connor. He pauses, presumably to try and figure out his wording, then speaks. "Bad week?" he asks, his eyes boring into Connor's.

Connor mutters, "Something like that."

"How so?"

Connor shrugs — he genuinely doesn't know. He had a good few days after he had cleared his mind and evaluated it all, and then, all of a sudden, that feeling just. . . disappeared.

Troye frowns at him again. "Oh? So you aren't gonna tell me why?"

Though he still feels reluctant to make any effort, he says, "I— I'm not sure. Not sure why."

"Oh," he says again. "You sure?"

"Positive," he tells Troye.

A third time, now, "Oh." And the room falls silent as they sip on their drinks and observe their surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it seems we've reached double digits in terms of the amount of chapters. damn.  
> the purpose of this was to attempt to show irony in the sense that last chapter connor decided he'd make more of an effort yet doesn't here, and to show troye's character in a different, sort of kinder light (thus conflicting with the more bitter side of him connor's used to).  
> apologies for being awful at updating again. i had a concert (at which i met sleeping with sirens!?) friday (4th march) and i've had a small case of writer's block, too.  
> hope you're all doing well. (genuinely.) feedback is appreciated, as always. come [talk to me](https://gaylordjpg.tumblr.com/ask) anytime if you'd like - i swear i don't bite. love, lee. x


	11. Ambiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's observant. Troye is endearing. AKA: I made you wait ten days for a chapter in which I, for the most part, just describe a non-existent apartment. Also, definite italics abuse.  
>  _Ambiance: the character and atmosphere of a place._

**T** roye is, unsurprisingly, the one who ends up breaking the silence. "Is this the part where we tell each other we hate each other and leave dramatically?" he asks, his tone of a lighthearted, jokey nature. It takes Connor a little by surprise — he's still not used to nice Troye — but he smiles at him anyway.

Connor shrugs, "Only if you want it to be." He's not quite sure how else to respond.

"Well," Troye says, "I don't want it to be." His voice is hesitant, reluctant to admit it.

Connor's voice is equally — if not more — meek. "Me neither."

The atmosphere between the two of them feels somewhat uncomfortable. Connor feels vaguely awkward being sat down in Troye's apartment — as if, even though he was invited in, he wasn't granted permission to be here. Almost like he's trespassing.

It's weird, though, to see Troye's apartment (or  _humble abode_ , as the [doormat](https://img0.etsystatic.com/121/1/11416075/il_214x170.863968600_269j.jpg) outside labels it; on that note, Connor wonders where he got it from, and how it hasn't been stolen yet) up close instead of, well, through a hole.

Connor hadn't pictured it to look much different than it actually is. It's very  _Troye_  — it's vaguely neat yet also simultaneously messy, with matching furniture and pretty paintings here and there on the pale walls. Discarded drinks have been collected in an array of different colours on the kitchen countertop, that Connor presumes will remain there for another few weeks, because God knows Troye's priorities are not in order.

There's gadgets and files and books piled up in stacks in the corner, and not to mention a few concerning stains by the sofa that Connor really does  _not_ want to know about. All the doors except one (which Connor can only assume is his bedroom) are open wide and welcoming, each leading to a new room Connor is yet to — but wants to — explore.

But what seems to strangely grab his attention the most is the overflowing bin by the desk, filled entirely with crumpled up pieces of paper with various words and notes scribbled haphazardly on them;  _songs_. Connor is aware he can play piano — he had heard it late at night every so often before they, ahem, got to know each other — but didn't know he _writes_.

Is he good? Well, that's rather plausible, in Connor's opinion. From what Connor has gathered, he excels in almost everything he does. He sort of reminds Connor of one of those annoying kids in school who'd always, no matter what, come out on top of everything. You know — the ones you'd pretend to not care about but secretly be green with envy over.

All in all, the only word that Connor can think to describe Troye's apartment with is  _homey_. It feels welcoming, and if Connor wasn't feeling so _difficult_ , he'd certainly find the ambiance somewhat comforting, in a way. It's pleasant, to say the least, and if it were more organised Connor would probably describe it as "aesthetic goals", or some pretentious shit along those lines.

"You have a nice apartment, by the way," he says. His face flushes in embarrassment of the awkward way he said it, and he stifles himself from holding his hands over it.

Troye's eyes widen as if he wasn't expecting Connor to say something like that (to be quite honest, Connor certainly wasn't himself), but smiles warmly at him nonetheless. "Thanks, Con," he replies, and his eyes widen at the sudden use of the nickname. "Connor. Thanks, Connor," he corrects himself, and Connor has to stop himself from giggling because that was just too  _precious_.

"No problem,  _Tro_ ," he smirks.

Troye shakes his head, laughs. "I fucking hate you," he says.

"But only a little bit?"

"Yeah, yeah, f'course. As always."


	12. Allay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More filler, because who doesn't love fillers, eh?  
> (Sarcasm, blatantly.)  
> (I hope the end makes you smile, though.)  
> (And don't worry, I keep reading the title as Allday, too.)  
>  _Allay: diminish or put at rest (fear, suspicion, or worry)._

**C** onnor comes to realise that his bed is cold — almost  _too_ cold — when he sits gingerly at the end of it, clutching the hot mug in his hands to ease the feeling. He sighs somewhat heavily out of exhaustion, takes a sip, haphazardly wipes the area of/around his mouth, not paying much thought to the action. He looks around the room curiously, as if to find something that's changed, or is the cause of why he feels so oddly uneasy within the safety of his bedroom.

He's so tired. It's a dull ache in his mind that sits concealed from others, but remains so prominently, he can't get away from it. It's a constant metaphorical ringing sound in his ears, droning on and on like a broken record on repeat, unable to tune it out. It's an itch upon thin skin, a cut with an uncomfortable plaster placed on top, a pebble in his shoe that he just can't shake out for some reason.

Tiredness lays there in a way only visible to himself, and he's living and functioning relatively sufficiently, but it's still  _there_ and it's annoying, perpetual, insipid. It's not that he's tired in a physical way, really; it's more of a mental, emotional exhaustion. Considering the rough few days he's had, he's fully content with dedicating as much time as he can and so desires to lazing around, doing nothing of importance.

Not that the whole thing with Troye the other day didn't make him considerably more happy — because it really,  _really_ did. Perhaps too much, actually; he appreciates the small gestures Troye made more than he'll likely ever know. He's just tired, and he can't help it.

So when he's finished drinking his tea (it's not coffee for once, hallelujah!) (which he really should not have brought with him onto the bed considering how stupidly clumsy he is), he clambers under the still cold covers and breathes a sigh of relief and content, letting the duvet engulf him in his state of fatigue. He pulls the edges up higher, tighter, until the only part of his body left exposed are the few brown strands within the mop of hair adorning his head.

His breathing is heavy as his body shifts sporadically, attempting to find a position comfortable enough to fall asleep in.

He drifts off half an hour later, his sleep unfortunately restless, and wakes up feeling pretty much exactly the same as the day prior, except more assuaged: he's still slightly drained and is definitely in need of a few more hours' worth of sleep, but now that he's awake and alert (to some extent) he reckons it'll be tough to fall back to sleep again, so he figures he'll just stay up.

And that he does: he trudges around his room, fumbling with the button on his jeans as he gets changed slowly but steadily, splashes his face with freezing water in an inept attempt to make him feel more refreshed. (Though really, he just feels even more groggy than before, if that's even possible.)

He eventually decides to shift his attention towards a book he's been meaning to read for the past God knows how long, focusing on the character's issues and not his own, pathetic ones. (Seriously, he's complaining about being a little tired when these people, though fictional, actually have wars to fight and don't bat an eyelid over it. That's some hardcore shit.) It works, for the most part, until he hears a light knock on his door.

He stands up slowly, placing his book on the side, walking over to the door with an expression on his face that's half annoyed and half inquisitive. He opens it, peers down the hallway — nobody there, oddly enough. He assumes it's just a prank done by stupid teens with nothing better to do, until he looks down, finding a small mug and a note beside it.  _Troye_.

He stares mindlessly at the items for a few seconds, wondering why on earth this occurred, before picking up the note and reading it. Troye's handwriting was scribbled, probably rushed, and read:  _not poisoned. figured you'd want it. made two cups 'cause a friend was supposed to come round, but i was ditched. send me pity here: [insert phone number] — tro_

Connor is almost entirely sure he's smiling too wide for it to be normal right now, but that's OK, because everything feels like it's going to be all right for once.


	13. Adjust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coffee date that's not a date.  
>  _Adjust: adapt or become used to a new situation._

**W** ith great coffee comes great responsibility; Connor's most definitely learnt that the hard way. He sits slightly slouched on a dark, sort of maroon coloured armchair, a drink that has likely gone cold by now rests in the middle of the small coffee table in front of him. His nerves are sky high — he prays to all things even vaguely holy that this doesn't show, that he appears visibly calm — and don't seem to be curable any time soon.

Opposite from him sits a  _friend_  — a newfound friend, a long-term nemesis of some sort. A friend with a calming, genuine smile adorning his features. A friend with an intriguing love for music (he's officially learnt a little more about this now, as opposed to rough guesses based on what he's seen or heard). A friend who has so many layers to his persona he may as well be a Russian doll set. A friend who goes by the name Troye, and is notorious for the odd spelling.

Connor's mouth feels like it's been sewn shut. As if something's physically preventing him from speaking aloud to Troye. Perhaps it might be for the best — he doubts that if he could utter a few words, he wouldn't blurt out everything he's been thinking and feeling for this boy. (It's not that he  _wants_ to, really. It's more of an internal need to get it out of his system.)

Right now, he thinks, it's almost as if the rest of the café ceases to exist — it's just them and them alone. Troye holds the utmost of his attention, the current story he's telling him captivating him. Not a single other person in the room owns even a speck of his interests (which is odd for Connor, as he's usually quite trivial about everyone's backstories, and is a full believer in the fact that everyone has something important to tell).

Troye breaks off from his story all of a sudden, startling Connor a little. "You OK?" he asks. "You're usually more talkative than this. Am I boring you, or something? You can tell me if I am. I'll only be, like, _mildly_ offended," he jokes.

Connor smiles, blushes.  _Shit_ , he thinks,  _what do I do?_

At some point between the daunting question and the few seconds of panic that followed it, he somehow musters up the ability to speak. (Mostly.) "I'm—" he starts, but pauses briefly to cough a little. "I'm fine. You aren't boring me. Quite the opposite, actually," he tells Troye, whose face unashamedly lights up into a grin at the last part.

"Good. Now, how about you tell me a story, this time?" Connor makes a face consisting of hesitancy, and sort of wishes he would evaporate into thin air.

"Uh, I don't know. I'm really not cut out for storytelling—" he starts reasoning in a manner a lot like rambling, but is thankfully cut off with a shake of a head and a protest from Troye.

"Come on, please? I want to know more about you. I'll even buy you another coffee."

"Let me buy the coffee  _myself_ , and I'll oblige," he says.

And as he delivers a spiel in a way he hopes to be somewhat eloquent, his mind can't help but to wonder about an entirely different topic: the fact that Troye genuinely wants to get to know him. He's still adjusting to their new dynamic, really (he's ashamed it's taking him so long). He's also confused as to why, because Connor doesn't really thin of himself as interesting. If he was in a box of crayons, he'd be the dull grey one that sparks nobody's interests. Or perhaps the white one — untouched, plain, boring.

He's perhaps biased in this matter, but still, he doesn't get it, and he doesn't think he ever will.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u feel the writing quality slowly deteriorating bc same  
> im rlly emotionally drained so next update will take a while im sorry  
> [not proofread]


	14. Attentive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: they're finally together. No, I'm kidding. April fools, have a new character and more internal monologue.  
>  _Attentive: paying close attention to something._

**T** roye is all smiles and inquisitive stares while Connor is talking, and Connor doesn't quite think he'll ever get over this feeling. He appears so genuine, listening intently as Connor waffles on, and despite even him being unsure of the words coming out, Troye doesn't seem to mind. It's relieving; heartening, even.

He's almost sad when he decides to stand up and buy that other drink, walking up to the counter slowly. He orders fast, eager to return back to the table where Troye sits, but he's a little caught up when the barista — Ricky, he reads on his name tag — decides to strike up a conversation with him.

"You look like you're having fun," Ricky notes as he begins making the drink, obviously referring to Connor's somewhat bored and impatient stance. Guilt rises up to his cheeks in the form of a blush — it wasn't exactly his intention for anyone to notice.

He vaguely attempts to perk up, standing straighter and plastering a small, bashful smile on his face. "Sorry, sorry," he says.

Ricky smiles, "It's OK, don't worry about it. I get that you wanna, like, resume your conversation." He pauses. "Looked pretty enthralling from here."  _It was indeed_ , Connor thinks.

Connor blushes once again, unsure what to respond with. "Oh, I, um, thanks?" he stutters.

"So is he your boyfriend, or?" Ricky asks, and Connor's almost entirely sure that if he had a bottle of water, he'd be doing a spit-take. His eyes widen, his heart skips a beat or two. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked that," he says, realising his forwardness was perhaps a little too soon.

Connor shakes his head, "It's fine. And no, we're friends. Just friends. We aren't, um, together." He stumbles over his words.

"Could've fooled me, you both seem pretty infatuated. But that's just an outsider's perspective, I suppose — it's never accurate."

Connor, in this moment, relentlessly tries to pull his mind away from a similar conversation he had with Lilly not too long ago. It just makes him feel like he's being more obvious than he initially wanted about his feelings.

"Oh..." he says, trailing off in uncertainty.

"Anyway, here's your drink. Sorry for taking so long."

"Thanks," he simply replies.

"Good luck getting your man!" Connor ignores that comment, ignores Ricky's attentiveness. He finds himself rolling his eyes as he walks away, then he sits back down opposite from his "boyfriend", or whatever Ricky might think he is.

"What were you chatting to him about?" Troye asks curious.

Connor shakes his head, waves a hand dismissively. "Nothing." The lie rolls off his tongue on instinct, twisting the truth at its own accord.

Except, it's not _nothing_. It's not a trivial conversation that he can easily brush off, not letting every word get to him; it sits there at the front of his mind, fresh in memory, taunting him. It's so prominent that it consumes his every thought. (Not to _him_ , anyway.) He knows Ricky's not the only one to figure out the ever-growing crush Connor has, and he knows it'll happen again unless he does something about it.

But he'd known Ricky for not long at all — what, five minutes? If that — and he'd still managed to pick up on it. What about someone he's known for ages?

The thought of Troye knowing and being fully aware of how Connor feels is, to a moderate extent, daunting. He's not ready for that just yet, and wants Troye to remain oblivious. Or if he already isn't oblivious and is just hiding it, he wants their dynamic to remain this way. It's much easier to deal with.

And really, it's such a silly thing to worry about — it's not going to be the end of the world if or when Troye finds out. He knows that, he's aware that the matter at hand is not one that requires painstaking thought, but he pays no mind and does it regardless. How completely, utterly  _stupid_ of him. It's sort of ironic how he subconsciously makes it necessary to think about a conversation that was so undoubtedly  _un_ necessary.

Why it's always the small things that get to Connor, he'll never know, but it's a perpetual occurrence — he's always been this way, had this mindset.

But what's worse, in the grand scheme of things? Letting himself fall, or letting others know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, here's the deal: i know next to nothing about ricky, so that's why he's horribly ooc (like, more than usual. i know pretty much everyone is in this story, but whatever; it's easier to write. *coughs* who needs realism, am i right? *nervous laughter* *shifty eyes*). i just couldn't think of anyone else to add.  
> i also know that this is well overdue, and i'm sorry. updates will be more regular as of now. (i hope.)


	15. Albeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And on today's installment of ~~Oblivious Gays~~ Adjacent: meet the friends! (But not quite. Next chapter, though.)  
>  _Albeit: though._

**B** utterflies; nervous butterflies. His chest erupts with them once Troye asks him that one fateful question: would he like to meet his other friends?

 _No, not really_ , is his immediate thought. Why would he want to meet a group of people who are like Troye? Or, in other words, are way too good to be true — too good for  _him_ , anyway. Connor doesn't want to be intimidated, doesn't want to feel trivial. It seems selfish, but he likes it better when they're alone — that way, he knows he's got the focus of Troye's attention.

He knows that they're going to be fun, all witty jokes and consistent humour, because that's what Troye likes in a person, and that's what _he_ is. He knows they're going to have a similar taste as him, bonding over music and shows and whatnot. But what Connor also knows is that he's none of those things and more — like he said, he's the white crayon in a box of colours.

 _They're going to hate me_ , is his next thought. Connor is a very different person from Troye — they clash. And perhaps Troye can look past that, see beyond their differences, but can his friends? Connor's awfully fidgety when he's anxious, and doesn't want to make a bad first impression. He messes up a lot, wears his flaws along with his heart on his sleeve.

He's a body of emotions in a clear glass case, anxious to let them out despite everyone being able to see anyway. Troye's case is tinted, too dark for anyone to know what he's thinking at first glance. He's guarded, as cliché as it sounds, and only those close to him would be able to see; that's where his friends are. They're in, ahead of him, better than him.

 _They're going to know I like him_ , comes following, with a flow of anxiety spreading through his veins, into his heart, the beat of it speeding up. He's unbeknownst of their ability to keep a secret, to refrain from letting the boy himself know; this worries him to the extent where a brief paralysis takes over him.

His last thought, which comes paired with the widening of his eyes and a half-assed smile, is _God, I need a drink_. Connor doesn't think he needs to elaborate on this one.

But despite the adamant protests he's making mentally, he says, "Sure," attempting to seem nonchalant even though every part of his insides is screaming. Apparently, he can't bring himself to say  _no_ to Troye. (He should probably work on that.)

It might be worth it, though, he reckons, because the grin Troye gives him in return makes his heart shake do that flippy-over thing at how nice and somewhat comforting it is; the gesture, though small, makes him feel more at ease. "Great!" Troye replies, sincerity oh-so present in his tone.

Connor raises an eyebrow, suddenly having gained confidence to weakly show hesitation. "Are you sure they'll like me, though?" he questions, his hand reaching to pull the sleeves of his jumper over his hands.

Troye stares at him with an unidentifiable look. "Well, why wouldn't they?" he asks gingerly.

"Crayons," Connor mutters inaudibly.

"You're gonna have to speak up, Con. I don't have the hearing of a bat, you know," he says. Connor smiles at that — the chucklesome remark fizzing away some of the nerves.

"I just...I don't know," he lies. "I'm probably just being stupid."

"Hey, don't say that. You're allowed to have doubts and it not be stupid. Besides, I have every confidence that they  _will_ , in fact, like you. Or at least find you tolerable. But there's no chance they'll hate you, promise," Troye reassures him. Quite badly at that, but it still makes him feel a little better.

"You did," he points out.

Troye makes a face, "I didn't. Not really. It's complicated. Can we not bring that up? I thought we were on a new slate, a new start."

Connor's eyes widen. "You didn't?"

Troye chuckles, "That's what I just said, is it not?"

Connor rolls his eyes a little, sighing. "Fine, OK. And thank you, by the way," he says.

"Anytime," Troye says, and reaches for Connor's hand, squeezing it lightly for comfort. Connor ignores the way his heart skips a beat or two, offering a small smile back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you it'd be quick, didn't i? anyway, if you couldn't tell, the only way i'm getting through this is by burying my head in the sand about the rumours; makes me uncomfortable writing with that fresh in mind. i'm not sure how far away the end of this'll be, but i'm adamant that it won't take long to get there.  
> until next time,  
> lee.


	16. Assuage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is nervous. Troye is bad at comforting. All fun and games, really.  
>  _Assuage: make (an unpleasant feeling) less intense._

**C** onnor's heart beats hard and fast inside his chest, an inconvenience that makes it much harder to remain visibly nonchalant to people other than himself. It's uncomfortable — he wants to squirm at the sensation, wants to tell it to just... stop. His hands are clammy, so he wipes them on his jeans with haste and little success in improving their state. He inhales, exhales, tries to keep composed; he doesn't even know why he's got himself so worked up by such an insignificant thing, at the end of the day.

Troye walks next to him, confident, striding along the pavement seemingly without a care in the world. Connor only feels worse as he turns to look at him — ironic, as the reason he looked in the first place was to feel better. Troye has this aura about him that has recently been calming him down, making him feel more at ease. When Troye comes to mind, he thinks of soft smiles and coffee and light humour — all things that assuage him. But all he can see in this moment is everything he isn't and can never truly be.

"Quit it," Troye hisses, cutting the silence. "One could literally feel you panicking from a mile away. Calm down."

Connor laughs nervously, half-heartedly. "Never in the history of being told to calm down has anyone ever actually calmed down from hearing those words," he says, his voice oddly monotonous and deep.

Troye rolls his eyes, "Seriously? I was just trying to make you feel better with some light-hearted sarcasm-slash-exaggeration-slash-whatever. No need to get touchy-feely."

"I am  _not_ touchy-feely," he denies lamely.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Con."

He doesn't respond — he can't focus long enough to think of a vaguely witty remark. Instead, he shakes his head dismissively, turns to look away and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket (which he later decides is weird and lets them flop at his sides once more).

They walk in silence with a small distance between them for a short while, perhaps five minutes, before Troye grabs Connor's hand. He interlocks their fingers, pulls Connor closer towards him like a magnet. "What are y— what are you doing?" Connor asks, trying to seem unaffected, but not protesting in any way.

Troye shoots him a look he can't quite decipher. "Holding your hand, what's it look like I'm fuckin' doing?"

"Why?" Connor asks. He isn't sure if he even wants to hear the response to this.

Troye huffs, mutters something under his breath that Connor doesn't catch. "Why not?" His words are clear this time, a teasing edge to them.

"Touché," Connor chuckles.

"Listen," Troye says, "I'm sorry if I pissed you off, or whatever. It's just— I've already told you, you've got no reason to worry. It's not like you're meeting the Queen of England."

"I get you, and I know. I'm just, funnily enough, not exactly the best at dealing with my emotions."

"Really? I had no idea," Troye quips, sarcasm clearly present. Connor elbows him in his side, somewhere around his ribs. "Well, that was just unnecessary."

"I have to disagree.  _Someone_ has to keep you tamed."

Troye points out, "But you're biased. And besides, quit distracting me from the issue at hand." He pauses to sigh. "We're nearly there," he tells Connor.

And by the end of the day, Connor regrets ever feeling nervous. He walks into his apartment with a smile on his face and three new friends, all who — despite some of his predictions about how _great_ they all turning out to be true — made him feel included regardless of the fact that they didn't know him. They were pleasant, composed of big smiles and intriguing personas, and Connor wants to know them better.

He has worn himself out, though, and so goes to make himself a cup of coffee. In the midst of drinking it, he receives a text message from none other than Troye himself:  _i told you so_ , it reads.

He types back a reply quickly afterwards.  _little shit._

_you love it._

Connor doesn't reply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im so sorry for bailing on this im the worst  
> this is unedited and of shit quality bc its sorta rushed  
> anyway what up its my birthday today how fun right  
> until next time


	17. Announce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilly confronts Connor regarding the meeting-the-friends business. Mostly speech. Filler, again.  
>  _Announce: make a formal public statement about a fact, occurrence, or intention._

**"A** ll right, this is just getting ridiculous now," Lilly announces, walking into Connor's bedroom without any notice — let alone an invitation. It has to be after midday, but Connor still lies in bed, covers pulled up high, face buried into the comfort of his pillow. He feels the bed sink as Lilly sits herself on the end of it.  _Damn_ , he thinks,  _I shouldn't have given her a spare key_.

"Mmpf," he lets out a muffled groan. "Tired."

"I don't care if you're tired, you little fuckhead. You haven't answered any of my texts asking how it went yesterday, and it worried me! I hope you have even a modicum of guilt inside you."

"I'm too tired to feel guilty. Check back in a half hour," Connor bluntly replies. Lilly yanks the covers off the bed, holding back a laugh at the sight of the whining Connor, who has never been more glad in his life that he doesn't sleep naked. "This is unfair," he complains.

"And this is an intervention. Come on, I want you ready in fifteen minutes, because we are going to have a hearty chat about a certain boy," Lilly says firmly.

Connor blushes, "I don't wann' talk about that." His words are still muffled.

Lilly glowers, "Do I look like I care? Up."

Connor obliges with bitter reluctance. When he finishes, Lilly has made herself at home sat on the sofa, a cup of coffee in her hand and one on the table in front of her. Connor stifles a smile, because this — Lilly so comfortable in Connor's apartment — is truly  _home_. It's grounding, familiar, and Connor loves it. Lilly puts the drink down, greeting Connor with a smile. "I see you've finally listened to me," she comments.

Connor pretends he didn't hear that. "Ever heard of a coaster?" he asks, shaking off all seriousness, noting that the beverage isn't standing on anything but the surface itself.

Lilly ignores him. "Good, you're up," she notes. "Now sit. Tell me about what happened."

"Well, his friends were oddly nice. Charming, even. They—" Connor starts, but is cut off by his best friend shaking her head disapprovingly.

"I meant," she corrects, "how did it go with  _Troye_ specifically, dumbass."

Connor flushes a strawberry pink sort of colour, buries his face into his hands to cover it up at least somewhat. "Oh," he says, eyes widening slightly. "A little more clarification on that front would've been nice." He pauses, takes a sip of his drink. "I don't know where to start. Uh, we held hands? He flirted once or twice in front of his friends? He's driving me crazy? What do you want me to say?"

Lilly exhales, seemingly deep in thought. "I'm... I'm not sure. But boy, do you have it bad," she tells him as if it isn't blatantly obvious at this point anyway. He glares at her without a single ounce of subtlety, and she playfully rolls her eyes back at him. "What? It's true."

Connor laughs dryly, "How reassuring, Lilly. That's exactly what I needed."

"'M Sorry, Con."

"It's fine, Lilly. I  _do_ have it bad, no denial there. I'm—" he takes a breath, cutting himself off. "I'm so deep in this crush, I don't know what to do with myself." He wants to elaborate, tell her more, but it's impossible to put into words how he feels about Troye.

"You know what you should do? Tell him. Tell him, and find out how he feels. Tell him, then date the shit out of him."

He grins at her outburst, but his smile falters as he shakes his head in disagreement of her suggestion. "I— I can't. What if he doesn't like me back and I'm just embarrassing myself?"

"He's been flirting openly with you for weeks, months, now. I honestly doubt that he doesn't reciprocate these feelings."

"I don't care. I can't do it, Lilly, I just can't."

Lilly sighs deeply, "Then you won't get anywhere, bud."


	18. Anguish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thing happens. (I'm sorry. Except, not really.)  
>  _Anguish: be extremely distressed about something._

**A**  quiet, tentative sounding knock can be heard from Connor's living room at perhaps 6PM, while he's busy deciding which takeout to order from (he's in one of those unfortunate 'too lazy to cook' moods which he  _despises_ with a burning passion — he'd very much like to be productive, thank you very much!), and he instantly knows who it is: Troye. After all, Lilly never knocks (she has her own key), and who else, besides maybe his family, who only ever visit once in a blue moon, would want to come inside?

He stands up slowly, but walks to the door rapidly, flinging it open quite carelessly. "Troye," he greets, after his suspicions are found to be correct. Connor smiles widely, but it falters when he notices the panicked expression on the boy's face. "Are you OK?" he asks gingerly, a slightly brooding look on his face. He gestures lamely towards the inside of his apartment, "Come in."

They sit adjacent on Connor's couch, little distance between the two. Connor can feel his heartbeat in his ears,  _thump, thump, thump_.

"I—" Troye starts, sighs. "I have to tell you something. Or, rather, you supposedly have something to tell  _me_." Well, that doesn't sound particularly promising. Connor's stomach twists unpleasantly out of nervousness.

"What do you mean?" Connor asks, confusion washing over him.

"Never mind," Troye says. "It's hard to explain."

Connor notes, "Judging by the look on your face, I don't think I'm going to like this, am I?" Troye shakes his head. "Great," he mutters sarcastically. "Get it over with, I guess."

Troye looks at him hesitantly. "You like me, don't you?" he blurts out, blunt as ever. Connor's heart stutters.  _Shit_. He freezes, does a double take. Was he  _that_ obvious? Well, Lilly and Ricky had both picked up on it, and likely Troye's friends, too, so he's clearly not the most discreet person in the world, but still. He thought he had everything under control, thought he was managing his feelings well enough, but apparently not.

"How did you—" he starts, emerald eyes wide, but is cut off.

"Lilly told me," he confesses. His heart sinks. _What?_  "Last night. She knocked on my door, and at first I was all  _'oh, shit, not her again'_ , but then she started rambling on about you, you and me, you liking me, and I was so  _confused_ but then it all made  _sense_ and I was happy and all but then I felt so  _bad_ for having found out without — I presume — your permission, and I just," he pauses, breathes, "I just had to see you. I'm sorry."

Connor doesn't know what to think. Instead, he makes a shitty, haphazard joke out of the situation: "that was probably the longest sentence to ever be spoken in human history."

Troye glowers at him. "Take this seriously, will you? I just announced that your best friend went behind your back, for fuck's sake! React  _properly_."

"I wasn't aware that there was a _proper_  way to react when you're told that—"

" _Connor_."

"I'm sorry, OK? I don't know  _how_ to react. It's just— it's so overwhelming, I can't deal with it. With her. With you. With  _me_." He hangs his head in shame, fiddling with the bottom hem of his hoodie. "And you don't need to be sorry, either. It's not your fault. It's Lilly's." He tries not to grit his teeth together as he speaks her name. Either that, or cry.

"Oh," Troye says simply. "But can I ask you something?"

Connor looks up, raises an eyebrow. He doesn't see how one more question could make this situation any worse than it already feels, so  _fuck it_ , he thinks. "Sure."

"Where do we go from here?"

Well, clearly he thought too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd apologise for this taking so long again, but i'm sure you're tired of that by now, so i'll refrain.  
> this was one of the shortest chapters. i wanted to write more, but then i felt like leaving it on a semi-cliffhanger, because i'm both equally evil and lazy.  
> unnecessary promo: [tumblr](http://sighmemes.tumblr.com/) (i changed my url), [twitter](https://twitter.com/mazetroye). come hit me up, complain at me maybe. or not.


	19. Apricity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pretentious, angst-filled, highly descriptive mess.  
> Yeah, I skipped the rest of 18's _where do we go from here?_ scene. Fight me. You'll find out what happened there soon enough, though (;  
>  (note: idk if this bothers u but perhaps a slight tw for the 6th paragraph it's fairly a graphic desc of violence)  
>  _Apricity: the warmth of the sun in the winter; this phrase comes from the Latin meaning "to bask in the sun"._

**I** s heartbreak exclusively specified to feel with significant others, or can it be felt in other cases?

This question is one of many ricocheting around the walls of Connor's frantic mind, bellowing and echoing as it moves, making itself exceedingly prominent. He feels sort of trapped, in a way: damned to the ever-shrinking cage inside his own head. It's suffocating.

 _No_ , he ends up deciding.  _No, it can't possibly be — this,_ this _feels like heartbreak_.

He doesn't know why people only tend to associate heartbreak with relationships, because this feels like torture.

He understands why Lilly did what she did, to be frank. But that doesn't exactly mean it was OK, does it? She — his best friend, platonic soulmate, call it what you wish — had gone behind his back. She'd betrayed his trust and went and told Troye everything Connor wanted to keep to himself; a secret, a small favour. He knows she meant well, he truly does, but even bearing that in mind doesn't mean it causes him no pain.

It hurts, and it's not a dull ache. It's vicious, tearing through him like a glimmering knife through soft flesh. He's shedding tears like blood, clear liquid seeping into his sleeve where he wipes his eyes sporadically and carelessly, much alike crimson stains upon the same fabric. He feels heartbreak like he feels a wound: fresh and overbearing, surging through him in white-hot, sizzling waves that burn so much, he thinks he might blister his brain.

Alas, he digresses — perhaps (read: definitely) the comparison is far too melodramatic for his liking; it's not nearly that bad.

He can still live his daily life, but only to a certain degree of normality applies. He's far too distracted by Lilly, by  _Troye_ , to make a sufficient job out of anything. He doesn't leave his bed until gone midday, which is odd for a usual early riser. He's had more than five spillages of drinks over the past twenty four hours, which, in regular Connor's books, is five too many. He's finding himself tripping over his own feet, forgetting to eat, stuttering over his words... oh, and what on  _earth_ is a shower?

Connor sighs, runs a hand through his tangled hair. "Get a grip of yourself," he mumbles aloud to himself, sitting down on the edge of his sofa. He's making a big deal out of nothing. God, if only he could just muster up enough courage to talk to either of the two; that would be nice, would make himself feel a little better, perhaps. He's always hated unproductivity, and feels remorseful for spending the vast majority of his time moping about.

He just doesn't want to make the first move. Troye and Lilly have done a stellar job at ignoring his existence over the past two and a half days, sending him no texts or calls — not even a lousy email. Troye hasn't knocked, Lilly hasn't used her key. Nothing. Zilch, zip, nada.

It seems overly ironic and highly unconventional when his phone vibrates all but two minutes later, the two-tone beep informing him of a new text.  _open your door_ , it says, Troye's contact name reads above it, dizzying and steadying all at once. Connor is hesitant. He takes slow, small steps, and his breathing is somewhat more erratic. He steadies himself, the door opening at his accord, creaking as it goes.

Connor furrows his eyebrows — he sees nothing. Then he remembers, weeks ago... His eyes trail downwards, locking onto the sight of a large — fucking  _venti_  — Starbucks cup of coffee, a note like last time discarded on the wooden floor next to it.

Connor smiles, all weak and tentative but still meaningful. He reaches out, picks the items up, closes the door again. He doesn't read the note until he finishes the drink (which is nothing short of wonderful and exactly what he needed), as he's far too nervous, for some reason.

The note reads:  _i'm sorry. please don't shut me out. i really care about you (but only a little bit, yeah? as always) — tro_. Connor stares at it for a minute or two, as if the words would morph into something else with a long glance; they don't change. Connor hears his breath hitch.

But Troye doesn't need to be sorry. It's not him who did wrong, after all — that's on Lilly, and Lilly alone. Maybe himself, too, for being careless.

Connor doesn't know what to think, much less what to reply to him. He lets himself breathe for a moment, composing himself, before he texts Troye back:  _Thank you._

It's short — two words, when he knows he could probably write an entire essay — but it's a start, isn't it? He smiles softly once more to himself, putting his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. It's a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my intention of this chapter's word was to have connor's sadness tied to the winter, leaving the cameo of troye at the end being the sun. words and metaphors are interesting, huh?
> 
> also, apologies for taking a long time to write this, as per usual. but this was just over 800 words (fairly more than normal), so i hope that makes up for it!


	20. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I am tired and will think of a proper summary later.  
>  _Absence: the state of being away from a place or person._

**T** o be alone, Connor has discovered accordingly to the events of the past few days, is not something he particularly enjoys. There are people who find solitude peaceful, almost comforting, but oddly enough, Connor thinks it's deafening. It's almost entirely his fault, too — brought upon himself by his own cowardice tendencies to back away from any situation he feels even vaguely uncomfortable in.

Troye had slipped away like sand falling through his fingers: he had never been truly within his grasp before he had gone at Connor's accord. It was a silly mistake to make, really — he had been  _right there_ , so close, and all he had to do was reach out... He hadn't. He still hasn't. He sort of hates himself for it, which is likely unreasonable, but he can't seem to care right now. People get scared over small, seemingly irrelevant things every day; it's decently rational, right? Connor was rational, not... not pathetic.

(The more he says it in his head, the less he seems to believe his own thoughts. Really, he still thinks he overreacted. But it's fine. He'll get over it.)

"Where do we go from here?" Troye had asked him, voice hesitant, as if afraid of Connor's possible answer. Connor had stopped in his tracks, taken a deep breath. He'd opened his mouth to say _date me_ or some other desperate shit along those lines, but had closed his mouth again and opted out. His palms were sweaty, and the room felt as though it was closing in on him.

When Connor had finally regained the ability to spit something coherent, it wasn't what he initially intended. "I'm not sure," he said as firmly as he could, and at that, had promptly speed-walked away. (Even though he was literally in _his_ apartment. He spent a solid thirty minutes sat alone in a nearby coffee shop having a crisis after that, before grudgingly returning home.)

He imagines Troye isn't too pleased by his abrupt exit. (Connor knows he wouldn't be, if the tables were turned.) He hasn't texted since the incident yesterday, and hasn't bothered knocking, either. Lilly, however, has sent an array of around forty messages pleading to let her explain; the bitter side of Connor willed to delete them all, but he's ended up having left them on  _read at 13:07_ , or whatever.

Connor isn't the kind of person to hold his regrets close to his heart, but perhaps this is an exception. It's almost like he physically  _can't_ let go, can't stop wishing things had gone differently. It's on his mind at a constant, never leaving his realm of bustling thoughts, and he despises it, despises not being in control. He doesn't like dwelling — he likes living in the now, rather than the past. Why brood over things that can't be erased, after all? It's a pointless evil, one that can be avoided with ease.

He wishes he had had the confidence to ask Troye how he felt, because technically, Troye had never really gone further than  _hinting_ how he feels about him. It's frustrating him to an extreme, but although he has an overwhelming desire to find out if his crush is requited, it's still somehow not quite enough for him to actively pursue a chat with him. He wants to, really, but his head isn't clear enough to be able to have a proper, adult-like discussion about it.

It sounds like a shitty excuse to get out of it, he knows, but it's true. Why get into something he's not ready for? Why dive into the pool when he knows he'll drown? It makes little sense, and Connor likes taking the logical approach to most things in life.

It's conflicting, though: he misses Lilly. He knows she meant the best when she went behind his back, but he can't seem to find it in him to forgive her just yet. But that doesn't make it any less painful to not be texting her all the time, or to not have her randomly walk into his apartment as if she owned the place. He loves Lilly like his own sister, like a platonic soulmate, but she hurt him.

Connor makes a sort of groaning noise, his head burying itself in his hands. He just doesn't know what to do — about Lilly, about Troye, about  _anything_. It's sort of as if he's got a compass in his hands, but his map to go aside it had blown away, and he hasn't a clue where he's going.

He figures he'll give it a few more days, then talk to Troye. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up (that you've probably all taken an educated guess on by now): we're really close to the end! 'm not sure exactly how many chapters are left, but not too many.
> 
> up next on 21: me, desperately failing to write speech between con and tro, plus probably more light angst.
> 
> i had to rewrite this chapter twice because of laptop fuck-ups. i give up on life.
> 
> until next time, [lee](https://sighmemes.tumblr.com). x


	21. Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's almost-knocking and then some actual knocking.  
>  _Awkward: causing or feeling uneasy embarrassment or inconvenience._

**C** onnor's pacing in the hallway — the one outside his and Troye's doors — working up the courage to just _knock_ on Troye's door; it's such a small, irrelevant thing at the end of the day, but he somehow can't bring himself to do it. Taking everything into account, including his abrupt exit and the texts and the drink, he can't help but let his nerves swallow him whole, consuming his entire existence.

He doesn't think he's ever been so clueless in his life before about anything (and that's saying something, because he's sat countless exams where he's known fuck all on the paper), and it's literally just a door. A completely not intimidating, simple door, its sole purpose to be knocked on, and Connor can't do it.

He lifts a hand up, forcing himself to do it, but it drops weakly by his side once more along with a defeated sigh. What will he say? He can't possibly try and talk to him without knowing what to say.

"Hey, I know you did nothing wrong and I ignored you for a few days and I have no idea how to express any emotion whatsoever besides lamely moping about like a pathetic GI Joe, but how would you feel about dating me?"

Yeah... that doesn't seem like it's going to get him anywhere.

But, similarly, neither is standing aimlessly outside in the familiar hallway to Troye's apartment — quite literally at that: he's not going anywhere standing still. It's almost as if he's paralysed to the spot, now; he's not even pacing about anymore, in unsteady, rapid motions laced with stress and a gut-twisting sense of worriedness. He's just staring at the door as if doing nothing will get him somewhere.

And accordingly so, he  _does_ go somewhere. He turns quick on his heel and opens the door to his own apartment, slamming it shut more loudly than he'd have liked to. He leans back against it, sliding down so he's sitting on the floor, and lets out a profound groan.

Why did he let himself do that? Here he is, complaining that he  _like likes_ Troye, that he wants to date him, that he doesn't want to let him go, and yet when the opportunity comes to secure a relationship, he lets it go and just... wimps out. Connor isn't usually all that fond of self-deprecation, though as of lately it seems like he can't stop putting himself down.

And it's all because of one crush. One stupid, goddamned crush that likely won't even matter in five years (God knows Connor can't commit to anything for extended periods of time. Not that he doesn't want to — it's just that for some unbeknownst reason, he can't). It's not even that important, and it's not worth the painstaking thought Connor is giving it. It's not as if he's proposing, or asking him to move in, or even meeting his parents — it's an apology, and perhaps a date if all goes well.

Connor is an idiot.

He stands up again, smooths out his shirt, and strides out his door again, closing it much quieter this time. He takes a sharp intake of breath, steadies himself.  _Knock, knock, knock_ , he goes, in a dumb, uneven sort of tune.

Troye opens it, rolling his eyes in what Connor hopes is a fond way. "So do you want me to pretend like I don't know that this is your second time trying to do this, or...?" he asks, tone amused yet with a serious edge to it.

"How did you—"

"Heard you pacing in the hallway, then the door slam. You know, you should really work on your subtlety," Troye answers before he even finishes asking the question.

"Oh..." Connor tenses, blush spreading across his cheeks. "Yeah, you— you're probably right."

Troye gestures vaguely towards the inside of his dwelling. He says, as if he wasn't aware of what Connor's answer would be, "Do you wanna come in?"

"Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me on saturday: yeah 21 will be up on sunday :)  
> me, two mondays later: well shit
> 
> so this was rushed but i hadta get it outta the way u feel me
> 
> next chapter is the last one!!! and then the epilogue and we r DONE (man that feels good)


	22. Alongside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for.  
>  _Alongside: close to the side of; next to._

**O** f all the times Connor has walked into Troye's apartment with a knot in his stomach, this time is the worst by a mile and a half. His hands grasp and fiddle with his shirt, palms sweaty and nails bitten (though unrecognisably — he's painted over it so it doesn't look quite as bad). His words feel trapped in his throat like it's a cage without a key as he trails lamely behind the taller boy, sitting aside him on his sofa, distractedly darting his eyes around the room in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Have you thought about it?" Troye says, resting his clasped hands against his legs. When Connor answers with a noise akin to a  _hmm?_ , he clarifies, "Thought about the question. Where do we go from here, remember? Because you sort of left me hanging with the sudden exit."

"Oh," says Connor, blushing. "I have. An awful lot, actually. I mean, I felt bad leaving you with a pretty shitty response, but I was too scared to call or text because I thought you'd be too pissed to talk and I was way too — what's the word? —  _flustered_ to talk coherently to you, not that I'm being perfectly coherent now, but still— I mean, I don't know, well, I  _do_ know, and I've—"

"Shut up," Troye cuts off Connor's rambling abruptly, though he's thankful because he could do with a breather after that. "Just get to the point and answer the question."

"I have an answer, but I have a question for myself first."

Troye gives him a stubborn, reluctant look, sighing. Connor doubts he'll cooperate at first, but then he says, "Shoot."

"You know how I feel about you. Lilly told you, I told you. But you haven't told me how you're feeling. So tell me: do you like me the way I like you, or not?" Connor says significantly slower this time, his voice wavering once or twice throughout.

Troye doesn't react the way Connor thinks he will, with a simple yes or no playing at his lips. In fact, he doesn't react at all at first, body language neutral and face expressionless, until he says, exasperated, "Lord above, save me."

"Huh?"

"You're fucking with me, right?"

Connor is beyond the point of regular confusion. "...No?" he says, though it comes out as more of a question than a statement.

"Connor,  _dearest_ ," he adds with sarcasm, "I've been flirting with you for quite some time now. I thought it was pretty obvious, but I guess you're just oblivious as shit." Connor opens his mouth to let out an offended  _hey!_ , but he's cut off by Troye placing a finger against his lips. "Sure, OK, I'm sometimes pretty passive-aggressive when I talk to you, but that was all early days, right? Jesus, Con, I made you a drink as a shitty excuse to get your number. I invited you to meet my friends as if you were my date."

Troye swallows, breathes. Then he continues, "In fact, I told them we  _were_ dating. And on the way I held your hand, and I must've done it another thirty odd times in other cafés, too. I literally called you babe at one point. Fuck, I don't even know what to say anymore. I mean, I knew you liked me before Lilly told me. It was obvious, just as I was. I wasn't gonna accuse you, though, because I figured you'd tell me in your own time."

Troye liked him that entire time? God, he fucked up. He should've told him.

Connor, more than slightly awestruck, forces himself to speak. "Wow, OK. I guess I am oblivious. Well, in that case, my answer to  _your_ question is that I'd like to date you."

Troye smiles, wide and genuine. "I think we've been unknowingly dating the past month, to be honest. But all right, yeah, I can work with that. Dating it is."

Connor returns the smile and breathes a sigh of relief, revelling in how well this whole ordeal worked out. Somewhere along the line between Lilly destroying their apartments and them sitting together on Troye's couch as boyfriends, he'd fallen in  _like_ with Troye, the painfully attractive, ridiculously confusing aspiring musician next door, and at the end of the day, he wouldn't change a thing.

He remembers how excited he'd been the day he bought the apartment, all happy-nervous butterflies and wide grins, and now, he thinks, he feels exactly the same way about Troye. He remembers the day he moved in and first spoke to Troye, and how he hadn't quite known the extent Troye'd impact his life, and how different their dynamic is now. He remembers how scared he'd been about Troye knowing about his crush, though now he feels nothing but relief.

Connor smiles contently, looking at the spot in the wall where the hole used to be, and how his apartment is right through the wall, adjacent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... they're finally together! you're welcome, i guess.
> 
> the epilogue is coming soon. it's not a happy ending, but it'll be a long one. (nobody dies, however. i just felt like paining you and then giving you a heads up.) i'm ~~not~~ sorry.
> 
> endless love, [lee](http://sighmemes.tumblr.com/). xx


	23. Axe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here it is. The almighty epilogue.  
>  _Axe: end, cancel, or dismiss suddenly and ruthlessly._

**T** he day they first tell each other "I love you" is nice, to say the least. They're sat in a field, mid-summer though the grass is damp, eyes wide with endearment. Troye says it first, sudden within the established silence, and Connor responds almost immediately with a blunt "fuck" out of panic, and then a reassuring "I love you, too" is said afterwards with a wide smile and a peck to Troye's lips.

(Later, they get ice cream together because it's hot and they're bored. Troye smushes his cone in Connor's face, telling him it's revenge for giving him a brief heart-attack at his vulgar language. Connor pouts, but reckons it's probably fair enough. He makes Troye pay, though.)

Connor makes amends with Lilly a day later — he misses her, and he knows she had the best intentions, so he lets her explain her reasons and forgives her almost within an instant. He's relieved they're back to their normal routine, and much happier, too.

Connor reckons he's never been so happy before, but then it gets even better, because Troye tells him that he might be getting a record deal, as they liked some of his songs and thought he'd have a good shot at fame. Troye is ecstatic but anxious, because, "What if they end up giving it to someone else, Con?" Connor tells him they'd be stupid to do so, drying his panicked tears with some tissues he found in Troye's bathroom.

Troye ends up getting the record deal, and Connor's never been so proud in his life. It's a slow process at first, Troye only needed in the studio once or twice a week, but as he grows comfortable with the environment, Connor finds he's spending more and more time at work. It's lonely not having Troye with him all the time as per usual, but he deals with it, because it'd be selfish not to.

The day his first song is released, it's also nice, to say the least. There's a lot of promo and a somewhat concerning amount of happy tears, and Connor invites Lilly and all of Troye's close friends out for a fancy-ass meal with them in celebration, and they laugh a lot and disturb a few of the waiters but none of them can bring themselves to care because they're in their own bubble of bliss and invincibility.

He's asked to open for some band at several shows in multiple different states, so he travels away from the apartments for a while, Connor opting out of going because Nicola is having some problems and he has to take care of that. She ends up being fine and he makes it to two out of seven shows, but it's bittersweet and he can tell Troye is upset that he missed his first shows.

(They never talk about it. Troye dismisses Connor when he's confronted about why he's discontent.)

The EP comes next, and Connor is only slightly less over the moon than Troye is at its success. He gains a lot more followers on his Twitter and his ("unaesthetically pleasing" — Connor's words) Instagram, and it's all fun and games. Troye plays a few shows of his own, too, which Connor goes to, and in the meantime, Connor is left alone in his apartment while Troye spends a significantly larger time in the studio otherwise. He even considers getting a cat at one point, but he decides against it.

They talk a lot. Generally, and in terms of problems. Connor is a strong believer in the term "communication is key", which, really, is quite hypocritical considering his silence prior to his — or rather Lilly's — crush confession. So he eventually tells Troye about his concerns and, inevitably, Troye tells him he's being selfish. They don't sleep in the same apartment that night, or the night after. Lilly forces him to make more of an effort to make it up to him, and he does. Troye forgives him.

Then, months later, they don't talk a lot. Troye's popularity makes things hard; Connor makes the most effort, sending texts and attempting to call him all the time, but each time all he gets back are one-word responses, "I'm busy"s and the pre-recorded dialtones of his answer phone. They haven't said "I love you" in two weeks when Connor loses it, texting him an essay of feelings.  _i'm sorry, we'll talk later in person_ , is Troye's reply. Connor feels sick.

Connor refuses to break up with him, though, because he knows it won't always be like this. He's only at the beginning of his career, so  _of course_ things are hectic for him right now, and Connor can't be mad at that. Troye deserves the happiness he's getting, and that's that.

It's much happier when Troye goes on his first proper tour a few months later, because Connor goes with him. They travel together, Connor building his photography portfolio and Troye interacting with his fans like they're his best friends. It's heartwarming to see, and the views are incredible. Sleeping together (in a literal and sexual way) again after being apart for a while is pleasant if not odd, and though they're in cities Connor isn't familiar with, it feels an awful lot like coming home again.

(Connor tells him that, and Troye rolls his eyes. "You're so fucking cheesy," he teases. Then, he adds, a profound grin on his face, "I feel the same." Connor kisses him.)

It stays nice for another year, and then it's really not; Troye is distant even when they're together, distracted by anything and everything. Connor says to him one evening, "Why do I feel like I'm the only one making an effort here, Tro?"

Troye replies, voice quiet and regretful, "I don't know," and the topic is left alone again after Connor sighs heavily in exasperation.

They break up the first time two days later, Connor very much fed up. He wishes Troye all the best, though, and three days later Troye calls him. "But you're my best," he mumbles into the phone, and they talk things out, Troye promising to make more of an effort. Connor believes him, which he can't decide is more stupid or noble.

Troye writes him a song. Well, actually, multiple songs on both his EP(s) and album are about Connor, but there's one  _specifically_ about him that makes his heart stutter and do flips in his chest when he listens to it — it feels an awful lot like the honeymoon phase of their relationship again, and it's so wonderful to have that back that it makes Connor cry a bit.

They break up the second time half a year later, and this time, Connor doesn't think twice. He doesn't date anyone for a year after, though, and still likes his tweets every once in a while to show his support, and Troye does the same, so it's nice to know they're not on terrible terms. It's still, however, rather bittersweet; Connor still misses,  _loves_ Troye. Letting go of him is hard, he finds, especially when Troye is seen out with someone else. A Jacob, maybe. Or a Jack. Perhaps a John. He's not sure.

(Connor indirects him. Troye texts him for the first time in months:  _grow up_. Connor laughs bitterly, deletes the tweet, then cries.)

Years later, after another two boyfriends and the purchase of a cat (at last), Connor isn't in love with Troye anymore. Sure, sometimes it's nice to reminisce and look back on their relationship and how it changed Connor as a person, but at the end of the day, he's well and truly over it. He's glad that Troye is still doing really well in terms of his career, and he hopes they can even be friends someday instead of distant acquaintances, but he doesn't particularly miss Troye that much.

Only a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's over. Hallelujah, no? 
> 
> Endless thanks and love to all of you for your support. I'm sorry, I guess? 
> 
> (Extended author's note regarding ending and thanking can be found [here](https://www.wattpad.com/269328340-adjacent-%E2%9E%B5-tronnor-afterword).)


End file.
